


Ground Control to Major Tom

by birdup (captainmycatisthedevil)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Space, Astronauts, Firefly References, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainmycatisthedevil/pseuds/birdup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was nothing but silence.  It felt like a dream, his ears straining to hear any evidence of another life form. Fighting back hysterical laughter, he began to sing: </p><p>"This is Major Tom to Ground Control. I’m stepping through the door, and I’m floating in the most peculiar way, and the stars look very different today…"</p><p>He couldn’t hold it back anymore, and he began to laugh so hard tears fell from his eyes, and began to float around him.  He grew up listening to old songs about space, and here he was, floating in a tin can far above the world. He doubted Scott would find this as funny as he did. Maybe David Bowie would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kick Ass, Go to Space, Represent the Human Race

There was nothing but silence. It felt like a dream, his ears straining to hear any evidence of another life form. Fighting back hysterical laughter, he began to sing:

_This is Major Tom to Ground Control. I’m stepping through the door, and I’m floating in the most peculiar way, and the stars look very different today…_

He couldn’t hold it back anymore, and he began to laugh so hard tears fell from his eyes, and began to float around him. He grew up listening to old songs about space, and here he was, floating in a tin can far above the world. He doubted Scott would find this as funny as he did. Maybe David Bowie would.

 

….

 

“Scott Scott Scott Scott Scott Scott. Scoooootttt!” Stiles took a running leap and threw himself onto Scott’s bed. He _almost_ felt bad about his elbow ending up in Scott’s stomach.

 

“Stiles. It’s four in the morning, what on _earth_ could you want??”

 

Stiles giggled at the pun he’s sure Scott didn’t mean. “I finally did it!! I’m finally going to space!!” Stiles had been a NASA chemist for five years now. He’d worked his way up from getting a small amount of funding for his graduate school project, to being one of the most respected scientists in their space program.  And after a rigorous application process, and _months_ of training, he was one of the scientists chosen to go. _To space._

 

He had waited his whole life for his chance to go into space. His father was the sheriff of a small town in California, and his mom was a schoolteacher.  He remembers laying in the grass of his backyard, flat on his back with his mom giggling in his ear as they looked into the night sky. His mom would point out the different constellations, and he would tell her “Mommy, I’m gonna go to space. I’m gonna see the stars and dance on moonbeams, just like in that song you always sing. I’m gonna be an astronaut.” She would wrap him in her arms, kiss his head and say, “Of course you are baby. No one planet is big enough for you.  You’re gonna fly among the stars”.

 

When he would ask for toy rockets for Christmas, his mom would just laugh and call him her “rocketman”.  Every cartoon about space, every song and story and poem about it would draw his attention like nothing else ever could.

 

When his mom gets called into the principal’s office, he knows that he’s really in trouble.  “What did you do, rocketman?”

 

Stiles scuffs his shoe against the ground, and mutters, “I was just telling the truth…”

 

His principal clears her throat, and tells his mom “The kids were being asked about what they wanted to be when they grow up. When Stiles was asked what he wanted to do, he would only keep shouting the phrase ‘Kick ass, go to space, represent the human race’.  It was quite disruptive, and he would not change his answer.”

 

“But that’s what I want to do! I’m going to be an astronaut!” His mom gave his principal a look when she was about to protest, and grabbed Stiles’ hands.  “Baby, what have I said about that language?”

 

“That it’s not appropriate, and I can’t say stuff like that.” He replies, petulantly. His mom nods, and then proceeds to defend him and his aspirations to his principal.  Later that day she takes him out for ice cream and tells him to name a star after her. She dies the next winter.

 

….

 

All of the lights are off, and Stiles keeps bumping into the walls.  He doesn’t know what went wrong; it can’t have been anything less than a catastrophic failure. They had been on their way back from the planet they had surveyed; a successful mission, and the crew had been awake from their small stint of cryosleep when there was an explosion. Boyd and Stiles had gone to check it out, and he can still remember the look on Boyd’s face when he was sucked into the black.  The sheer terror of floating tether less in the vast nothingness of space.

 

 He thinks that Isaac is still around somewhere, but Stiles can’t see enough to look for him. Doesn’t know if Lydia is still alive.   _I am a leaf on the wind_ , Stiles thinks to himself.  _Watch me soar._   He knows he needs to make his way to the communications console. Needs to try and connect to Houston, needs to call for help.  Tell them about Boyd. He can still see the tears floating around his head. It’s kind of beautiful.

 

He steels himself, and pushes towards where he last saw the emergency equipment.  If he’s going to establish communication with Houston, he’s going to need a flashlight.

 

….

 

Scott was his first roommate outside of college. Everyone had told him that Craigslist only led to serial killers, but for Stiles it had found him a best friend. Scott was training to be a veterinarian, and he was the kindest, dumbest kid that Stiles had ever met.  Stiles loved him.

 

“Scott. Scottyyyy. Scoooooottt.”

 

“Stiles, I know that you are bored out of your mind while you wait for them to finish the safety checks, but if I don’t study for this exam I’ll never become a vet! Go bother Derek.”

 

Derek was their next-door neighbor. Stiles and Scott lived in an apartment building on the fourth floor, and Derek was surly, quiet, and _devastatingly_ handsome.  Stiles didn’t have much free time, what with his job: he spent most of his days in his lab, prepping for launch.  When he was home, he and Scott usually played video games, went out to bars, and watched movies. It was Stile’s mission in life (other than his mission to, y’know, travel to space) to drag Derek on as many of these outings as possible.

 

Leaving Scott to his highlighter filled misery, he crossed the hall to Derek’s door.  _Knock knock knock._ “Derek.”  _Knock knock knock._ “Derek.” _Knock-_

“WHAT, Stiles??”

 

“Wanna go see a movie? Play a game? Go for a run?” Derek looks royally pissed, but must see that Stiles is climbing out of his skin, because he sighs and opens the door further. 

 

“No. None of those things.  But come in, I guess.”  Stiles grinned and bounded through the door, jamming his hands into his pockets to hide the way they were shaking.  Only five more days until _space._

 

Derek looked to be in the middle of folding laundry and watching some sort of crime show.  He’s a pediatrician at the Texas Children’s Hospital, and his couch is covered in pastel colored scrubs with farm animals and cartoons on them. Stiles gives him shit every time he sees Derek in his scrubs, but it’s just to cover the way his heart melts in his chest. No big deal, just an extremely large and rugged man in lilac scrubs with pigs dancing on them.  Maybe one day it won’t make Stiles’ legs feel like they weren’t built to hold his body up.

 

Derek sits back down on his couch and continues as if Stiles had never even existed.  When Stiles sits next to him, as close as possible without edging towards lap territory, his ears turn red and Stiles has to bite back a cackle. Instead, he picks up the basket of unmatched socks and helps Derek finish his laundry.  Scott would be outraged at the sight, for Stiles’ room is a permanent wasteland of empty cups and dirty clothes, but chores with Derek soothe him.  Often when Stiles comes over (or forces his way in) Derek is exhausted from a long shift and blearily trying to keep up with his housework.  Its pretty much tradition now for Stiles to pick up the vacuum and join in. Derek grumbles that Stiles is a pain in his ass, but always manages to feed Stiles before passing out face first in his bed. 

 

Today they fold laundry in companionable silence, the sounds of the TV comforting in the background.  Stiles wouldn’t say that he’s scared to go into space, but when a commercial comes on for yet _another_ ridiculously farfetched space movie, Derek changes the channel and shifts his body towards Stiles’, just slightly.

 

Stiles is folding a truly outrageous pair of bright pink wool socks he recognizes as the ones Scott’s mom had knitted for Derek last Christmas.  Derek didn’t really have a family, never talked about why, but had sullenly allowed himself to be dragged along to the Stilinski-McCall Christmas celebration. He’d drawn the line at wearing the Santa hat Stiles had tried to stuff on his head, and Stiles has it on good authority that Derek has a picture of him grabbing Stiles in a headlock on his desk at work.

 

“How are the preparations coming?” Derek asks without looking away from the TV.  Stiles grins, excitement bubbling back up to mingle with nerves.

 

“Good! Five more days until launch. They’ve given us today off to like, make peace with the Earth or something.  I’ve already eaten three helpings of curly fries and called my dad, so I ran out of things to do.  Tomorrow I go back in to double-check all of my equipment and stuff I’m bringing with me, and then we have the final physical examinations.  But they’re just gonna tell me I’m the fittest astronaut they’ve ever seen, so I’m not worried” Derek snorts and Stiles shoots him a smile. “Have I told about this cool new microscope they’re packing me off with?  It is seriously the raddest thing like, ever, and…” Stiles rambles on about his equipment for a few minutes, Derek listening quietly and asking questions every so often, until all the laundry is folded and Derek is fighting back yawns.

 

“When do you have free time in, oh, lets say the next five days?”

 

“Come over on Friday night.  My shift ends at five.”

 

“Cool, cool, cool.”  Stiles darts forward and throws his arms around Derek’s neck in a hug, and has just enough time to glimpse his gruff “I’m feeling emotions” face before he’s shoved out of the apartment.

 

….

 

They were supposed to have checked in with Finstock, their flight director, hours ago.  Stiles thinks communications have been down for around five hours. Boyd has been gone for about four. Isaac is dead. Stiles had found his body floating near the gym where the explosion site had caused some of the worst damage, head bleeding freely.  He turned away from the floating blood, his breakfast threatening to come back up. He wonders if his tears are going to show a precise trail of his movements.  That might be sorta cool.  He thinks he’s probably in shock, and shakes his head twice.  He needs to radio Houston.

 

Flashlight in hand he looks at the communication panel. Some sort of power source had been blown in the explosion, and Stiles needed to rewire the panel to a different power source.  If there even was one still working.  He knows that there is a backup energy source aboard, but for the life of him couldn’t remember where it is.  It’s one thing to recall every emergency procedure during the practice drills in training, but every time he blinks Stiles still sees Boyd’s face.

 

Stiles opens the panel and looks at all the wires. Fuuuuck.  He’s a goddamn chemist, not an engineer, but necessity is the mother of invention. Or something like that.

 

The flashlight beam shakes in his hand, and he tries to take a deep breath.  He thinks about his dad, about the sound of Sunday night football and his loud belly laugh. He thinks about Scott, excitedly telling him about the poodle whose life he saved. He thinks about Derek tiredly thrusting a bowl of macaroni at him and his pink scrubs with daisies on them. He grits his teeth.

 

….

 

Scott gets back from class and thinks about how it’s probably time for him to get used to coming home to an empty apartment. Stiles had been gone for a month now, but Scott still isn’t quite used to the silence.  He and Derek eat dinner together once a week, and pointedly do not talk about Stiles unless it’s to jokingly imagine how his crew is putting up with all of his rambling.  Sometimes a stupid song from the 80’s comes on the radio, and Scott feels a little pull in his chest. 

 

Scott looks at the calendar Stiles had drawn up for him of his flight schedule.  It has little rockets crudely drawn in the margins that had made Scott laugh when he first saw them.  He knows that they’ve been awake for six days now, and can’t even begin to imagine what the Earth looks like from space.  He’d looked at an image on the Internet, but it had made his stomach clench. He’d leave space to Stiles, and just make sure that his Dad ate healthy while he was gone.

 

He was just starting to boil water for spaghetti when his phone starts to ring.  He looks down with a frown to see Derek’s name flashing across the screen. _That’s weird_ he thinks, _Derek has work tonight_. 

 

“Derek?”

 

“Channel six. Now.” Scott pales, and races for his TV. He swears when he drops the remote, and hurriedly turns to channel six, some news station.

 

“—NASA reports that all contact was lost four days ago as some sort of explosion occurred on the ship.  There has been no communication between Houston and the crew, and engineers are trying everything possible to find out what has happened to the crew of the HERA and establish some sort of contact. We send our condolences to the families of astronauts Isaac Lahey, Vernon Boyd, Dr. Stiles Stilinski, and Dr. Lydia Martin. We hope that they will all return safely to Earth, and turn now to a speech given by the director of NASA—“ Scott feels cold all over, like his chest has been filled with ice.

 

“…Scott??” Shit, he totally forgot Derek was on the phone.  Scott doesn’t think it’s the first time Derek has called his name.

 

“Oh my god…” Scott croaks into the phone. He hears Derek sigh, and his next breath hitches slightly.

 

“Do you think they called his dad?” Scott asks, worried.

 

“I assume so? I really hope he didn’t find out the same way we did.” Derek sounds angry, but Scott knows that he’s scared. “You should call him Scott. Maybe NASA will let him into the control room, or has more information, god, I don’t know. Maybe it will help.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea Derek, thanks. I’m, I’m gonna go call him—I’ll see you tonight?” He doesn’t think that he can be alone in the apartment tonight. He doesn’t know that he’ll be able to sleep again.

 

Scott can hear Derek moving around on the other line, probably getting ready to hang up, and asks in a quiet voice, “Derek?”

 

 

“Yeah, Scott?”

 

“He’s alive, right? I mean, he’s Stiles. He” there’s an invisible fist crushing Scott’s throat, “what if he’s just floating in space, forever, until he can’t breath anymore—“

 

“SCOTT.”  Derek sounds terrible, like he’s been screaming for hours. “Stiles is fine. Stiles is going to fly back home to us, and rub it in our faces that he’s a national hero.  He’s going to sing David Bowie songs until we want to punch his lights out, and” Derek falters, “He’s going to be just fine. He’s smarter than you or I can imagine.  He works with the best scientists in the world.  He’s going to come home to us. I gotta get back to work, I’ll see you tonight” _Click._

 

Scott stands still for a minute and tries to pull all of Derek’s optimism into himself, even though he knows that even Derek probably doesn’t believe his own words.  He wishes Stiles was here to laugh at all of the theories that the stupid news team has for what happened to the HERA.  He wishes that he didn’t have to call Stiles’ dad to make sure he knew that his son might not be coming home.  But most of all he wished that he had never seen the movie _Gravity,_ never seen a single goddamn picture of space, never imagined Stiles floating away by himself, alone and scared.

 

He squares his shoulders and calls Stiles’ dad.

 

“Sherriff Stilinski? Hey, it’s Scott…”


	2. Is There Life on Mars?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crying is weird in space. The bubble of moisture just…collects on your eye. Stiles blinks, and the tears move along his cheekbone. He wipes them off with his sleeve, angry that he’s sitting there crying and wasting time, angry that Isaac is dead and that they won’t even get a chance to bury Boyd’s body. He gently guides Isaac’s body to his sleep pod, and zips him into his sleeping bag. Takes Isaac’s towel and gently cleans off his face, mindlessly humming a song Isaac loved, some old classic about love. Isaac looks even more as if he’s just sleeping, and Stiles can’t help but sob. For just a minute. He can have just this one-minute to mourn his friend. 
> 
> He shuts Isaac’s sleep pod gently, and looks around. It feels like he’s the only person in the entire universe in this moment.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” Stiles had been fiddling with the console for who knows how long.  His fingers were bleeding, cut up by twisting wires and scrabbling at circuitry.  He thinks it’s been hours, but his body still feels numb. 

 

“That’s horrible language, Stilinski, I thought I taught you better than that.”

 

“ _Lydia”_ Stiles breathes, blinking to make sure he’s not hallucinating. Her voice sounds scratchy, there’s blood gathering at her temple, her hair is disheveled and there are tear tracks lining her face.  She is literally the best thing that Stiles has ever seen in his entire life.  He pushes off of the console, barreling towards Lydia. She apparently also pushed towards him, because they collide, heads banging together and bodies spinning out of control.  Lydia lets out a watery laugh and Stiles buries his face into her neck.

 

“What—“ Stiles starts, and Lydia shakes her head.

 

“I got trapped.  The door to my lab wouldn’t open, and the power was out. It took me quite a bit of time to get through the door,” she admits with an annoyed huff.  Stiles peers at the cut on her forehead, face screwed up in concern.  Lydia rolls her eyes and brushes him off.  “Ran into some floating debris on my way up here.  It’s not a big deal.”

 

Not one to be outdone, Lydia scans him over and zeroes in on his fingers.  She glares at him, and before he can escape she has his hands in her manicured grasp.  


“What have you been doing to your hands, you idiot??”

 

“Trying to contact Houston.”  She gives him an incredulous look.

 

“Stiles. You’re a _chemist_ , what on Earth did you expect to accomplish?  Where is Boyd—“ Stiles tenses, and shakes his head. “…Isaac…?” A sob chokes its way out of his chest.  He can’t, they can’t be— “Oh my god…what? How?” Lydia looks stricken and Stiles just wants to pretend he’s in Derek’s kitchen helping him cook chicken noodle soup, to pretend that he’s as far away from this moment as possible.

 

“Boyd and I went to the site of the malfunction. We weren’t ready for the breach. Boyd couldn’t grab purchase in time and he…” Lydia knows what happened next. She squeezes his hand.  “Isaac was struck by the ensuing explosion.  He was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I found him.  He’s in the gym” Stiles throat starts to close and he forces himself to take a deep steadying breath.  There’s nothing they can do about their crewmates now.  He’ll have time to grieve later.

 

Lydia seems to have come to the same conclusion, because she straightens her shoulders and pushes Stiles to the side.

 

“Goodness, Stiles, you’ve really gotten nowhere.” Lydia admonishes, checking his work on the communication deck. Stiles huffs, offended, but Lydia sends him a smile.  It’s a startling normal interaction and Stiles has to choke down another lump in his throat.

 

“You’re not an engineer either…” Stiles mutters, petulant. 

 

“No,” Lydia concedes, “But I am the best. Period. Now go to the kitchen and take stock. We don’t know how long we’ll be stuck up here.”

 

“Aaaaaaand with that sobering thought, I’m off to see how long we have until starvation. I’ll come back up and help when I’m done.” He kisses her cheek, and once he’s pushed himself out of the room, he shudders.  He hopes that their supplies made it through he explosion. As much as he doesn’t want to ration protein bars for the rest of forever, he thinks they may be up here for a long time.

 

…

 

“What do you mean you don’t know anything, where is my son??”  Scott winces, and keeps cooking dinner.  The sheriff had just landed in Texas when Scott called, headed to NASA to “beat some answers out of those snobs”.  Neither of them wanted to go into Stiles’ room so Scott was sleeping on the couch while the sheriff took his bed. 

 

Scott jumped when he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. He had zoned out the sheriff’s yelling and didn’t hear Derek come in.

 

“Anything?”  Derek asks quietly.  Scott shakes his head.  Everyday they all watch the news, waiting for any sign of life from the HERA.  Everyday the sheriff yells at someone on the phone for an hour. They still don’t know if Stiles is alive.

 

“How was work, Derek?”

 

“Fine.  Jared is healing well from surgery.  Some kid threw up on my scrubs.  It was fine.”  Scott turns and really looks at Derek.  He’s got dark bags under his eyes, darker than usual, and his shoulders crawl more and more towards his ears everyday.  Scott knows that he doesn’t look much better.

 

“How long has he been on the phone?” Derek asks quietly.  Scott sighs, and turns the stove off.

 

“All day.  They just keep saying that they’ll establish communication any day now…that there’s not much they can do until a shuttle is ready or the HERA contacts them. The same thing as _every fucking day._ ” Scott jerks the pot in his anger, and boiling water splashes onto his hand as he lets out a hiss of pain.

 

Derek just gently guides Scott to place the pot back on the stove, and then puts Scott’s hand under cold water. Scott watches Derek check the burn, marvels at the gentle expression on his normally grumpy face.

 

“He really loved you, y’know?” Scott sees Derek stiffen, and suck in a sharp breath.

 

“Scott…” Scott can feel tears welling, and pats Derek’s chest in apology.

 

“No, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… He’s still out there.  He’ll have time to tell you himself.  Serenade you from space or some shit.  I just…I just _really miss him_.  When I fall asleep at night all I can think about is St-- him, all alone up there, starving, or bleeding, or—“ Derek grabs Scott by the neck, shocking him out of his panic, and gently squeezes.

 

“Breathe with me, Scott.  In and out.”  Scott breathes as Derek counts, and wonders where he learned to coach panic. He wonders if Stiles taught him from his space training.  Wonders where the hell Stiles is. He slowly tips forward until his head rests on Derek’s chest.

 

Scott is so focused on calming down that he takes a minute to register the sound of hitched breathing, and the quake in the chest where his head rests. 

 

Derek is crying, steadily, quietly, and trying desperately to hide it.  Scott just wraps his arms around him, and squeezes with all the strength he has left, though it feels as though he digs to the very marrow of his bones. They stay like that, lost in thought and trying desperately to keep it together when a loud crash comes from the living room, followed by a string of curses.

 

Scott sighs, and leans back. 

  
“I’ll go check on him.  Will you finish dinner? Its just spaghetti.”  Derek nods, and Scott heads into the living room to calm the sheriff down, as best he can.

 

….

 

“A month” Stiles says, voice sounding foreign to his own ears.  Their supplies would last him and Lydia a month with regular rationing, more if they really stretched it. Houston probably couldn’t put together a rescue shuttle for a month and a half, after all of the costs and bureaucratic bullshit.  Fuuuuuuuck.

 

Stiles packs all the food away, carefully organized and labeled.  He pushes his way up the tunnel and to the control room, where Lydia is swearing softly under her breath, and kicking the communications panel. 

 

“Hey Lyds. No luck?”

 

Lydia jumps at the sound of his voice, and turns with a glare.  Tossing her hair she announces “Not yet, but I’m close.  I think I can make it in a few hours.  What did _you_ find out, Stilinski?”

 

Stiles clears his throat and makes steady eye contact. “A month, regular rationing. “  Lydia goes pale, and Stiles reaches forward and grasps her shoulder. “We can make it stretch. It’ll be like one of those fad diets that Finstock was always ranting about at Houston.”  He can tell that Lydia’s smile is forced, but feels something in his chest unfurl at the attempt.

 

It had always amused Stiles to watch Lydia physically bring herself above the rest of the world, somehow projecting her immense superiority. Watching her shoulders straighten and chin lift now still has the same bolstering affect.  She scoffs, and turns around, “Well I’ll get back to saving both of our lives. You, go amuse yourself somewhere else. I’ll call when I inevitably save the day.”

 

Stiles leans forward and places a kiss on her head. “I’m gonna go secure the…body.” He can feel his throat closing, nausea rolling in his stomach. “I don’t want him to just float around.”  Lydia looks pained, but squeezes his hand and gives him a nod. 

 

Stiles pushes off, and makes his way to the gym. Cold crashes over him when he sees Isaac, knows that he’ll never forget the sight as long as he lives. Laughs when he realizes that might not be that much longer.

 

Isaac is still floating; droplets of blood still a striking cloud around him, a large bubble collecting along his head. His eyes are closed, and he looks like he could be sleeping.  Stiles’ skin feels tight on his face, like it’s suffocating him.  He reaches a shaking hand out to Isaac, and gently grabs his ankle. Where should he even put him? Where would he be the safest, where could he _at least_ bring his body back to earth, when he had already failed to keep him alive. 

 

A memory feels as though its pushing out of his brain, pictures of Isaac laughing during training, startling Boyd so much he fell off the treadmill.  Remembers long days in simulated space travel, warm nights watching movies with the rest of the crew.  Remembers the smile on his face when, after much bargaining, he, Lydia, Boyd, and Isaac had gone caroling at the hospital Derek worked at. 

 

Crying is weird in space. The bubble of moisture just…collects on your eye.  Stiles blinks, and the tears move along his cheekbone.  He wipes them off with his sleeve, angry that he’s sitting there crying and wasting time, angry that Isaac is dead and that they won’t even get a chance to bury Boyd’s body.  He gently guides Isaac’s body to his sleep pod, and zips him into his sleeping bag. Takes Isaac’s towel and gently cleans off his face, mindlessly humming a song Isaac loved, some old classic about love. Isaac looks even more as if he’s just sleeping, and Stiles can’t help but sob.  For just a minute. He can have just this _one-minute_ to mourn his friend.

 

He shuts Isaac’s sleep pod gently, and looks around. It feels like he’s the only person in the entire universe in this moment.

 

Stiles spends the next few hours collecting together all of the supplies they’ll need to survive: between the four of them they still have a lot of hygiene supplies, CDs, blankets. He’s storing all of the extra towels and shampoo when he hears Lydia shout “Stiles!!!”

 

Stiles races towards Lydia, heart in his throat. What if something had gone wrong?? What if there was another disaster, another gaping hole into space—

 

Stiles barrels into the control room at top speed, gasping Lydia’s name.  She turns to him, tears gathering under her eyes and whispers, “I think I got it. Just let me…” Lydia fiddles with a few more things, and then there’s a crackle.  Stiles doesn’t dare breathe as Lydia calls out in a shaking voice “Houston. Come in, Houston.  This is the crew of the HERA, do you read us?  I repeat, this is the crew of the HERA requesting assistance.”

 

 

“Dr. Martin??”  Stiles lets out a shout of joy, and he can feel more tears collecting below his eyes as Lydia lets out a watery laugh. 

 

“Finstock?”  Stiles calls out weakly, almost unbelieving. 

 

“Stilinski!! You goon!”  Stiles can make out some scuffling in the background, some suit probably trying to get Finstock to follow protocol, or release the microphone. “So glad to hear your dulcet tones, m’boy! Where are Lahey and Boyd?” Stiles was expecting this, knew that they needed to tell Houston so that they can contact the families. Lydia’s head is bowed, and Stiles chokes out:

 

“Dead.  They, uh, didn’t survive the explosion.” There’s silence over the line. A different voice replaces Finstock’s, and Stiles immediately recognizes Deaton, the director of NASA.  


“Did you recover the bodies?”

 

“We have Isaac’s body.  We, um, we couldn’t—“ Stiles coughs, trying to get a hold of himself, act like a goddamn professional, when Lydia cuts in.

 

“Boyd’s gone.”

 

Deaton sighs and Stiles can clearly picture him removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes.  It makes him ache to be back on earth, arguing with Deaton and playing in his lab.

 

“What is your rations status? How long can you live in the HERA?” 

 

“About 45 days, sir.”

 

“We have been preparing a shuttle to fly and meet you. Our estimates show that it will be safe to launch in 44 days.”  Deaton sighs, and continues.  “I know that this is cutting it close.  Do your best to make supplies last.  We _will_ bring you home, you have my word.” Stiles can feel a hysterical, jubilant laugh building in his chest and he doesn’t even try and restrain himself from grabbing Lydia and sweeping her into his arms.

 

“Give me the status of the HERA.” Lydia and Stiles rattle off the damage sustained to the ship and the status of the systems keeping them alive. They talk shop for an hour, and Deaton starts to sign off when Stiles hesitantly asks, “Can you speak to our families? Tell them we’re safe?”

 

“Of course” Deaton promises.  Lydia leans against him, and Stiles turns his head to plant a kiss in her hair. “We will be in contact.  Stay safe.  Houston over and out.”

 

….

 

Scott wakes up with a crick in his neck. He had fallen asleep the night before watching mindless TV while the Sherriff was making phone calls. Derek had gone home right after dinner, an early shift in the morning.

 

Scott blinks his eyes open and looks around blearily, wondering what the hell had woken him up. 

 

_Briiing._

 

It was a ringing phone, and based off the boring tone, it was the Sherriff’s.  He hears the gruff “H’llo?” of the Sherriff, and then dead silence.

 

“I can’t…Are you sure?? Really?? My son…” and then muffled crying. Scott feels his chest seize. No.  It was the phone call Scott had been waiting for since he had heard the news; the phone call that meant Stiles was never coming home. Would never bring Scott curly fries and coffee when he was up late studying ever again, be his vivacious and obnoxious wingman at a bar or a party.  Scott starts to get dizzy, and numbly realizes that he’s panicking, each short gasp causing his lungs to tighten.

 

Suddenly there are rough hands hauling him upright, and Scott looks up at the Sherriff, tears streaming down his face.

 

“Stiles…he’s…how…”

 

“Scott! Scott he’s alive!! Stiles is alive!! The HERA just made contact, and Stiles, they told me that Stiles is alive and he’s talked to Houston and they’re gonna bring him home.”  The Sherriff starts to cry in earnest, and crushes Scott to his chest, rocking him. 

 

Scott feels like he’s floating and can’t do anything but laugh and cry.  Stiles is alive. Scott had lost all hope, thought that he’d spend the rest of his life pretending there wasn’t a Stiles shaped hole in his life.  They sit for a while, basking in the all-consuming relief and telling funny stories about Stiles.

 

Scott was finishing up telling the Sherriff of when Stiles had organized a caroling group to go to the hospital and follow Derek around all day when it hits him.  _Derek._   He shoots up off of the couch and races to Derek’s door, pounding and shouting his name.  Derek rips the door open and snarls “WHAT” his hair standing up and pillow marks on his cheeks.

 

“Stiles!” Scott gasps out, and immediately Derek’s knees buckle and he falls to the ground.  Scott stands for a minute in shock, before rushing to grab Derek’s shoulder, shaking him in his enthusiasm.

 

“No, Derek, he’s alive!! Stiles is alive!!” Derek looks at Scott in complete shock, and then a blinding grin breaks across his face.  Scott can feel his tears through his shirt when Derek buries his head in Scott’s chest, and Scott laughs.

 

….

 

Scott feels like he’s going to cry and he is _so tired of crying_. He had been dropping lunch off for Derek and his mom at the hospital, and was sitting with them in the break room when the news turned to the HERA.  The now familiar warmth filled his chest when the newscasters announced that Stiles and Dr. Martin are alive, and the break room erupts into cheers. Scott shares a blinding grin with Derek. He’s about to turn back to his lunch when the newscasters start to detail the extent of the damage the ship received. Stiles and Lydia are stuck in a _busted open spaceship. Oh my god oh my god oh my god._ The newscasters are somberly talking about the deaths of the two other astronauts, Isaac and Vernon his mind supplies, when Derek stomps over to the TV set and angrily turns it off. They sit in silence for a few minutes until Melissa leans over and grabs his hand.

 

“He’s going to be alright, Scott. Stiles is going to be brilliant, and flourish in space until NASA sends help.  He’s going to come home.”  With a knowing look she reminds them “you know Dr. Martin would never let anything happen to him, and god knows that woman could carry them home through sheer will power if she could.”  Scott manages to choke out a laugh and agree with his mom.  Even Derek has a small smirk on his face, hopeful in the genius of Lydia Martin.

 

“How do you think…what happened to them out there? What happened to Boyd and Isaac?” Derek and Melissa look back at Scott helplessly, unable to imagine what could have happened far beyond their planet. Scott wraps his sandwich back up and looks down at his clasped hands, appetite completely gone. The thought of Isaac and Boyd’s deaths were bothering him, a disturbing mystery, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to look anything up.  Couldn’t quite stomach the idea of knowing more about all of the ways Stiles was almost lost to them, and could still be lost.

 

….

 

“We need to reinforce the door in the aft. What materials do we have available?” Lydia was in full survival mode, having spent the last few days creating lists of tasks and procedures they needed to accomplish. Houston had counseled them on some of the tasks, engineers sent up to help and talk them through the repairs. Days of their extreme rationing had already sharpened Lydia’s face, and Isaac’s work clothes looked even baggier on her small frame.  Stiles was wearing some of Boyd’s, and actively trying not to think about it. They needed to use every resource available.

 

The task they had set aside for today was to reinforce the inner door that was protecting them from space.  The explosion had ripped off a chamber in the aft of the ship, taking with it one of their outer locks, and leaving an inner door as their only defense.  They needed to make sure that the door between them and the vast expanse of space wasn’t about to rip open while they slept, and they needed to be _very_ careful.

 

The ship had extra supplies and tools packed away for repairs, and though neither Stiles nor Lydia were mechanical engineers, they both had basic knowledge of the ship’s structure. They had spent the morning carefully drawing up plans, aided by engineers sitting in Houston with blueprints of the HERA.  Stiles and Lydia pulled on their reinforced suits, just in case, and Stiles mindlessly chatters at the engineers to keep his mind off of the task ahead of them as they head to the back of the ship.  When they reach the door, Stiles turns to Lydia and gently bumps his helmet against hers. With a small smile, she clasps his hand, and turns to clip them both onto the ship, a long cord that attached their suits to the wall.

 

“Let’s do this!” Stiles crows, and hears Finstock’s laughter in his ears.

 

They were just beginning the process, Lydia removing a panel to look at the mechanism of the door and asking a question to one of the engineers, when they heard a hissing sound. They peered at the door, confused, when suddenly a piece of the wall was ripped away, creating a hole into the black.  Houston frantically shouting in the background, the last thing Stiles heard before he was ripped through the hole and barreling into space was Lydia’s scream.


	3. Starman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lifts his arm in front of his face and stares. Twists his head and sees the earth. We were so close, he thinks to himself. And then something hits him.

“Fuck, Dr. Martin?? Dr. Stilinski?? Come in, what’s happening??” Finstock was pacing, running his hands through his hair until it stood up on its own.  Deaton came sprinting into the room and yelled,

 

“Finstock, what’s happening?  Where are Martin and Stilinski??”

 

“Sir, they were repairing the door and we heard a scream and then communication cut off.  We haven’t heard word from them in two minutes going on three. Our best guess is that the ship experienced another breach, and that… something bad happened to them, sir. And we won’t know for sure until we re-establish communication or…or if we don’t, I guess.” Deaton sighed, and sank into a chair.

 

“Not a word to the media” he looked around the room, a severe look on his face.  “Do you understand?? No one can know about this.  Let me know if they establish communication, _immediately_ ” and with that he stormed out of the control room.

 

“Fuck.” Finstock muttered, and turned back to the screens.  They couldn’t do anything but wait.

 

….

 

Any image of space does not do it justice. There is no way of conveying how startling and terrifying it is to exist in an essentially endless vacuum, surrounded by what feels like purely nothing.  The initial velocity created by the breach propels Stiles into the black. He’s…floating? Maybe. There really isn’t words for this either. But his brain isn’t quite responding to what has happened, hasn’t quite wrapped itself around the breach and his sudden flight.  For a moment he just revels.  It’s ridiculously cheesy, and later, much later when remembering this moment stops making Stiles shut down, he’ll laugh at himself. But in this moment he feels infinite. He lifts his arm in front of his face and stares.  Twists his head and sees the earth.  _We were so close,_ he thinks to himself. And then something hits him.

 

….

 

Lydia feels the scream pull at her throat, a distant pain.  The breach in the wall of the ship quickly expands, and before either of them can react, before they can so much as blink, Stiles is gone.  He had been closer to the hole, and didn’t have the same opportunity to instinctually grab hold of something.  Lydia holds on for all she has as the chamber pressurizes, and space stops trying to rip her into the abyss.  For one moment Lydia does not want to open her eyes.  Does not want to believe that their luck could be this _impossibly_ atrocious, and that she will wake from this dream. She looks up, and she sees Stiles, already small, already so far away.  And she shoots into action. She turns and sees that though she is still attached to the ship, Stiles has been ripped free. She doesn’t let the fear choke her. She tugs on her tether, swallowing that shallow guarantee that she will return from this, and pushes off of the ship.  And then she’s in space, in it far more than she ever could have imagined, and than she ever wanted to be.

 

She doesn’t know if she will ever catch up to Stiles, but the thought if continuing on without him is preposterous. She won’t allow it. Stiles is still in her vision, but he is getting larger.  Getting closer.

 

 

“ _Please_ ” she whispers, her hand outstretched.

 

….

 

The Sherriff doesn’t know why he even watches the news anymore.  But it’s a compulsion. He watches everyday as well-wishers dwindle, as the world moves on to the next disaster.  There is still a nation that waits for the safe return of two heroes, but space drama is disappointingly slow it would seem.

 

He still eats dinner with Scott and Derek everyday. Gets to know the two most important people in Stiles’ life, gets to see the home his son has made from himself here in Texas.  With the knowledge that Stiles is coming home, it becomes almost…nice.

 

Scott is a lovely boy, and it’s easy to see how much he cares for Stiles.  Pictures of them smiling together are hung up all throughout the apartment and Scott speaks of Stiles as though speaking of a brother. Through Scott he learns more about his boy, learns about how Stiles has been spending his free time. Learns, while Derek is at work, that it has been largely with Derek.

 

Stiles seldom talked about Derek after the first few months of living next to him, but the Sherriff could always tell. He was special. When Stiles dove in, he always dove headfirst.  The Sherriff remembers well the heartbreak that this always seemed to cause. But he’s been getting to know Derek, saw how he responded to news of Stiles’ survival, sees how he smiles as Scott regales them with yet _another_ tale of him and Stiles being kicked out of a bar.  Derek is special.  So is Stiles, it would seem.

 

The Sherriff and Derek are sitting on the couch playing cards, the news idly playing in the background.  There doesn’t seem to be a moment that it’s been turned off. Derek is contemplating his cards when a newscaster says the word “NASA”.  They both whip around, necks smarting, to stare at the TV. Wordlessly, Derek turns the volume up.

 

“…an inside source also informs us that just minutes ago, NASA command lost communication with the HERA seconds after a strange commotion and a sound of distress from Dr. Martin.  NASA has still not reconnected with the HERA, and we can only hope that we will hear from our beloved astronauts soon.  Critics of NASA are wondering…” This has to be a joke. Some sort ridiculous lucid dream born out of stress that he will wake up from any minute now. He feels a large hand grip his shoulder harshly and takes a deep breath.

 

“What…?” He croaks, and the grip strengthens.

 

“I don’t…what could have happened?” Derek looks just as lost as he feels, and lead settles in his stomach. 

 

“We should call Scott” he manages to mutter, and Derek nods.  Neither of them move for a long time.


	4. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles feels something crash into him, the force sending him into a spin. Hands grab at his shoulders, and then his face, turning his helmet and smashing it against another. Lydia.

Stiles feels something crash into him, the force sending him into a spin. Hands grab at his shoulders, and then his face, turning his helmet and smashing it against another. _Lydia._ There are tears streaking down her face but her grin is blinding. Her arms circle around him and squeeze tight. Stiles’ hands shake where they are clutching Lydia to him, eyes shut tight in disbelief. Lydia looks up and her smile fades. They steel themselves. To get back to the ship they will need to pull themselves along Lydia’s tether. If Stiles lets go he’ll be lost forever. _Hand over hand…_ he thinks to himself, as they painstakingly make their way towards the ship. _Hand over hand._ Stiles may cry a little bit when they pull themselves into the ship, but Lydia is sniffling too.

 

While Stiles shakily catches his breath, Lydia turns her radio back on to frantic yelling.

 

“This is Dr. Martin of the HERA, come in Houston.”

 

“Oh thank God!! Dr. Martin, what happened??”

 

“There was a breach, we had some difficulty. We reacted, and we’re fine. Tell us how to seal the breach.” There is a shocked silence across the line, and then they hear Finstock clear his throat.

  
“Affirmative. I, uh, I’m glad you’re both alright. Here, the engineers will help you.” A new voice comes over the channel, and Stiles and Lydia explain the damage the ship sustained. Then they begin to fix it.

 

….

 

The Sherriff hadn’t been able to get a hold of anyone useful, and was slumped on the couch, head in his hands. Scott was fixing them lunch on autopilot, having sped away from school in the middle of his morning class when the Sherriff called him. Derek was in his apartment. Scott’ll check on him when he finishes lunch, make sure he eats something.

 

It’s been an hour since Derek and the Sherriff had watched the news and every three minutes Scott tells himself that it’s okay. Stiles is fine, they just accidentally knocked out communication. They’ll fix it any minute now.

 

The Sherriff’s phone rings, and Scott freezes.

 

“Hello?? Yes, yes of course, goddammit what happened to my son?! What do you mean situation?? Fuck you, you goddamn…you’re sure?...thank you. Thanks. Sure, uh, just thanks.” The Sheriff slowly slides down to the floor, and scrubs a hand across his face.

 

“What?? Sheriff, what happened?? Is Stiles okay??”

 

“He’s okay, son.” The Sheriff croaks out, and then clears his throat. “They said that there was an ‘incident’, and that they never meant the public to find out but there was a leak. They said that Dr. Martin and Stiles are alright, and that they’ve reestablished communication.” He sighs, “All we can do is wait”.

 

Scott stands there for a moment and tries to take it in. He doesn’t know that he can handle any more of this…but is it better to go about his life without knowing what Stiles is going through? He sighs, and walks over to Derek’s apartment. Learning from his mistakes, he pounds on the door while shouting “Stiles is fine Derek!! We heard from NASA and they established communication!! He’s gonna be fine!” A neighbor pops their head out of their door to shush Scott, but he just flips them the bird and keeps pounding on Derek’s door.

 

Scott had built up such a fast and mindless rhythm, still shouting about Stiles being fine, that when Derek opens the door Scott comes millimeters from punching Derek in the eye. Derek catches Scott’s fist, and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug.

 

“Derek!! Stiles is—“

 

“Yeah, yeah I heard you, Scott. The whole building heard you”. Scott laughs breathlessly, and relaxes. “I’m gonna grey prematurely because of that asshole” Derek mutters in Scott’s ear, and Scott just squeezes him tighter.

 

Later, when they’re drinking beers and watching Netflix, Scott notices that Derek isn’t really paying attention. He’s looking at the door to Stiles’ room, which is plastered with Star Wars posters and photos of Scott and the Sheriff. Derek’s eyes look far away, his shoulders rigid. Scott leans his weight a little to the right, until his shoulders brush Derek’s, and leaves them there. Derek takes in a shaking breath, and turns back to the movie. He leaves his shoulder against Scott’s.

 

….

 

Stiles has always had a… complicated relationship with sleep. He _loves_ to sleep. If he didn’t eventually have to pee he could sleep for a week, easy. But sleep has never liked Stiles back. His insomnia can be sporadic. Some days, waking up early and a long day of work are exhausting enough to knock him out. But most nights find him staring at his ceiling, thoughts circling and incessant. Eventually either his eyes get so dry and heavy that something in him gives up, or he gets to see yet another sunrise and needs a bit more coffee than usual.

 

Space is entirely different. One of the first things the crew did when they got out of cryosleep was establish a routine. Schedules are important in space, sleep even more so. Sleep was regimented, and Stiles never slept better. But now, when Lydia is softly snoring, Stiles sits up and stares at the earth. He doesn’t remember blinking or swallowing. Some indeterminate time later Lydia will shake him, and they’ll begin another long day of trying to survive, but while Lydia sleeps Stiles freezes. He thinks about home, with Derek and Scott. He thinks about his dad, and growing up in California, riding along in a squad car and watching Star Wars with his mom. He tries to see Beacon Hills from the window, and likes to imagine that he is successful. He also thinks about slowly starving to death in space. It’s never really far from his mind.

 

Hungry hurts like hell. But it gets…better sort of? Eventually it blends into a whole-body pain, like the universe has decided to beat on Stiles indiscriminately, instead of punching him straight in the gut. Days go by, and rations dwindle. Lydia looks gaunt, and Stiles knows better than to look at himself in the mirror. But they’re close, and though Stiles’ hands shake as they clasp Lydia’s, he still hopes.

 

….

 

Scott opens his apartment door, head swimming with information from the lecture. He tried desperately to retain the diagram of a cat’s skeleton, frantically listing the bones; metatarsus, tarsus, fibula— _Smack,_ he runs right into something and stumbles back a step.

 

The sheriff laughs and grabs Scott’s shoulders to steady him, then pulls him into a bone-grinding hug. Bemused, Scott pats him on the back, and waits.

 

“He’s comin’ home, Scott! The rescue ship is being deployed tomorrow. NASA just called, and he’s comin’ home.”

 

Somewhere in his brain, Scott had known that this moment was coming. Knew that NASA was working overtime to make sure that Stiles and Lydia came home. But he’d pushed those thoughts aside, didn’t want to even think about space. So he’d focused on his studies, and on making food for Derek and Stiles’ father. Distantly he can feel the sheriff let go of him and walk across the hall. Hears Derek whoop and holler. His shoulders are tingling, what feels like the entire world removed from his back. When Derek grabs him, and spins him around laughing, Scott buries his face in Derek’s neck and lets their giddiness envelop him. Smiles bigger than he ever remembered being able to. The waiting game is almost over. Scott is going to punch Stiles in the face as soon as he gets home for the years this fiasco has shaved off of his life, but _NASA is ready_. Goddamn finally.

 

 

….

 

_Launching in 10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…blastoff. Project RYAN is airborne. Let’s bring our people home._

….

 

“RYAN approaching the HERA, connection in 35 seconds. Are you ready for us, Dr. Martin?”

 

“Ready and waiting, sergeant. Stilinski and I look forward to seeing you soon.”

 

“ _Docking in 10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…and we have arrived. Hello, crew of the HERA.”_

Sergeant Allison Argent, pilot and leader of the rescue mission RYAN, is a pretty big deal at NASA. Stiles would be more in awe of getting to work with her if he weren’t distracted by the weakening of his teeth, the frailty of his bones, the patch of hair that fallen out of his head earlier that morning. It seems space has made him rather maudlin. An elbow digs into his side, and he blinks until he can see Sgt. Argent peering at him, brow furrowed in concern. Oops.

 

Allison Argent is a gift sent from a God that Stiles doesn’t believe in.

 

“ummm…thank you Dr. Stilinski? Let me just say, you two are a sight for sore eyes too” Stiles blushes while Lydia rolls her eyes. But golly, he can’t regret it. Allison looks _wonderful_ , her hair clean and shiny, her face full and warm. Even her space suit is clean. Another elbow to the stomach reveals that his attention has yet again wandered, but when he looks up at Allison she’s smiling gently at him.

 

“I was just telling Dr. Martin to collect all of your items, it’s time to get you home.”

 

Stiles whoops with joy and tries to spin Lydia around. All he can manage is to grab her in his arms, and even then his body is shaking with the effort. He brushes off the panic, and holds strong to the beautiful hope of sgt. Argent. Lydia’s arms are shaking where she holds Stiles tight to her body. Stiles pretends not to notice how very small she is.

 

Their transport back to Houston is a bit…cramped. This means that Stiles has to leave all of his posters and CDs, that Lydia has to leave her books. Their data and research has already been loaded, samples safely locked down. So long as the RYAN makes it back to earth, Stiles and Lydia have completed their mission. Their work becomes a part of NASAs long history of exploration and research. Stiles lets out a long breath, and feels some tension bleed out of his shoulders.

 

Allison is helping them load some of their nicer surviving equipment, when Lydia freezes. Stiles bumps into her form behind, and calls out:

 

“Lyds? Hey what’s—“

 

“Isaac. We forgot about Isaac” Lydia spins around to face Stiles, and her wide eyes mirror his. Allison leans out of her ship, confused.

 

“Sargeant Lahey? But I thought—“ Stiles is already off running, Lydia quick on his heels. Stiles wants to cry he’s so mad at himself, but there isn’t time. The shuttle is set to detach and return to earth in ten minutes. The shuttle is full.

 

Stiles wrenches himself to a halt at Isaac’s sleep pod, and grabs onto Lydia. He reaches towards the open switch, to turn off the cryosleep that has been preserving Isaac’s body, but he freezes. Lydia squeezes his other hand, but makes no move to open the pod herself. Stiles remembers that she still hasn’t seen him, that the technology that allows them to sleep through space travel will have perfectly retained the bloody wound on his head. Stiles wonders how one can still be nauseous with absolutely no food in their system, and turns his head until it rests on Lydia’s shoulder.

 

“Martin, Stilinski! What on earth is going on??” Stiles hysterically wants to laugh at the unintentional pun, can feel tears building up in his eyes, but doesn’t blink them away. It’s Lydia who answers Allison:

 

“Sgt. Lahey, he uh, his body is intact. He’s been in here. The whole time.” She seems to steel herself and turns to face Allison. “He _will_ be returning home with us.”

 

Stiles can feel his chest getting tight, the thought of Isaac’s body so close to his living one choking him, the apologetic look on Allison’s face a bitter reminder of his failure.

 

“I’m so sorry, but we don’t—“

 

“He _will_ be coming home with us. This is nonnegotiable.” Stiles squeezes Lydia’s hand in support, his eyes still glued to the latch of the sleep pod.

 

“Where do you propose we store him? In the extra flight seat? I’m sorry, Drs., but we cannot fit sgt. Lahey—“

 

“No.” Stiles croaks. Allison looks up sharply. “I promised…Boyd’s gone…his brother deserves to say goodbye” Stiles’ breaths are quick and shallow, but he can’t even fathom the idea of leaving Isaac. Cannot bear the thought of failing his friend a final devastating time.

 

Lydia shoots Allison a reproachful look while rubbing soothing circles onto Stiles’ back, and declares “Then we strap him in. Don’t give me that look, morbidity is a job requirement. His family deserves to say goodbye, he _deserves_ to go home.” Lydia’s voice breaks on the last word, and Stiles can feel her hands tremble in his. He reaches out a pulls the latch.

 

Isaac still looks like he could be sleeping. Stiles has to look away, and lets Allison grab the body and carry it to the ship. When Stiles sees Isaac strapped into the flight seat, his eyes closed and head dropped as if napping, he can’t contain the laughter. Allison’s face seems to indicate that he has gone mad, but fuck it. He thinks Isaac would have found it funny too. Something floats in front of his face, and he realizes distantly that it’s a tear. He wonders if it’s his. Hands buckle him into a flight seat, and then he hears the hatch close.

 

“Detaching from the HERA in five…four…three…two…takeoff.”

 

The RYAN detaches from the ship with a slow grind and a click, and then the ship begins to move. Stiles closes his eyes.

 

….

 

Derek, Scott, and the Sheriff are waiting on the tarmac, watching as heat waves waft up from the concrete. A medical staff and about a hundred NASA employees all loiter, their eyes trained on the sky.

 

After what feels like years, a spacecraft touches down. The hatch opens, and a ladder slides out. Nothing happens for a moment. And then a boot comes out of the hatch. Scott holds his breath, and Derek grips his hand tightly. Scott sighs in disappointment when he sees that it is a woman. Other unknown astronauts climb down the ladder, and Scott’s chest begins to tighten. And then there’s Stiles. He’s clutching the hand of a frail looking redhead, and together they slowly lower themselves down. Without really thinking, Scott’s running, the pounding steps of the sheriff and Derek following his mad dash. As soon as Stiles and Lydia set foot on the ground, they’re set upon by medical teams. By the time Scott reaches them they both are seated on a gurney and have oxygen masks, but when Stiles meets his eyes they are bright with happiness. As Scott reaches out for Stiles, the sheriff shoves him aside and grabs his son in a bear hug, reaching back to tug Scott in as an after-thought. Scott laughs, and then pulls Derek into the hug as well. It feels unreal to clutch at Stiles’ arm, to feel hand warm and real. After some tears, and a kiss on the cheek from Derek that makes Stiles turn the color of a tomato, they step back.

 

Scott can’t contain a gasp when he truly looks at Stiles, who smiles weakly at him from behind his oxygen mask. He looks…feeble. He’s pale, thinner than he’s ever been, and there’s a tired slump to his shoulders that Scott’s never seen before. His hands are scarred, and tremor as he dutifully makes fists for the medical team. He looks bad. But there’s already an IV giving him nutrients. He knows that there will be consequences for Stiles, that while he is home now he’s not okay, but when he reaches out to touch him _Stiles reaches back_. Scott doesn’t even try and wipe away the tears. They’re all crying anyways. One of Stiles’ hands is clutching the small woman beside him, Dr. Martin he thinks belatedly, and the other is clutching Derek’s hands. In a moment they’ll be taken to a hospital, where Stiles and Lydia will spend some time recovering, and then Scott can take Stiles home. At last.

 

….

 

Stiles gloats when the president calls him, and Lydia let’s him brag three times before slapping the back of his head. The president called her too, after all. They get medals. They hold a service for Boyd and Isaac, and Stiles and Lydia lock themselves in Stiles room for two days.

 

Stiles wakes up most nights sweating and disoriented, afraid that he is still millions of miles away. It helps when Derek is there to remind him that he is safe, that he’s in his small apartment in Houston Texas, and not in a busted up spaceship. It helps even more when it’s Lydia he wakes up with his strangled cries, asleep in his bed after a long night of watching movies or drinking to Boyd and Isaac. When this happens she will curl around him and run her fingers through his hair. When its her turn to wake up screaming, Stiles will grab her hand tightly in his and tell inane stories about Scott, or his dad, until Lydia’s breathing slows down. They’re managing.

 

The sheriff eventually returns to California with promises of coming back up for Christmas. Stiles takes a permanent position in NASAs research department, a pulls down his posters of space from his walls. He lets Derek pick out the artwork to replace them when he moves in. Stiles is ecstatic when Lydia warns them that she is bringing a plus one to Scott’s graduation, and obnoxiously laughs his ass off when he sees Allison Argent on Lydia’s arm. Everyone soon forgets to be annoyed when Stiles bawls as Scott crosses the stage, cooing when Stiles buries his face in Derek’s shoulder.

 

….

 

Scott comes barreling into the apartment complex, bag of takeout in hand. Life had been pretty harried since he started working at Dr. Deaton’s practice, and he had been halfway home from work before he remembered it was his job to pick up the food before Derek got home from his double shift. The elevator is broken, _again_ , so Scott rushes up the stairs. He’s just turning the doorknob when he hears someone quietly singing:

“ _Though I’m past one hundred thousand miles, I’m feeling very still. And I think my spaceship knows which way to go…”_

 

Scott freezes, leaving the door open a small crack. He can hear Stiles clinking around in the kitchen, setting the table, and singing David Bowie. Songs about space had been on the unspoken taboo list, along with movies and TV shows, but this song in particular made Stiles grow pale, then excuse himself from the room. And it had been his favorite song.

 

“ _Tell my wife I love her very much, she knows. Ground control to Major Tom…”_

A smile comes unbidden to Scott’s face, and when he finally enters the apartment Stiles just claps him on the shoulder and keeps on setting the table.


End file.
